


On the Dangerous Use of Pick-Up Lines

by Niitza



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bad Pick-Up Lines, M/M, Original Character(s), POV Outsider, silliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-20
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-20 03:06:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1494289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Niitza/pseuds/Niitza
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stanley goes for a beer and tries to hit on a very cute blue-eyed stranger. It doesn't quite go as planned.</p><p> </p><p>  <i>(Set in a probably diverging future of season 9)</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Dangerous Use of Pick-Up Lines

Even though Steve's is pretty much the only decent bar in town, it's not often you see new faces there. Which is why, when Stanley comes in that evening for a well-deserved beer, he notices the stranger at once. Then he notices the tousled dark hair, the light end-of-the-day stubble and the neat get-up - some damn fine example of business casual - and his surprise turns into the pleased kind.

The guy is sitting at the bar all by himself, drinking a beer. He looks like he's relaxing after a long day and not waiting for anyone. But he also looks far too pretty to remain all on his own.

So when Stanley walks up to the bar and orders a drink he maneuvers so as to slide into a seat next to the stranger, smooth as all fuck. And as soon as he has a bottle in hand he swivels on his stool to face the guy and asks: "Did it hurt?"

Because he's never been known for beating around the bush, much to the contrary.

The guy takes several seconds to react, and when he looks over he has a puzzled frown on his face, like he wasn't expecting anyone to talk to him - only Stanley doesn't believe for a second that people aren't hitting on him left and right everywhere he goes. Especially with those crazy blue eyes.

"Pardon me?" the guy asks, and Stanley grins. He likes his men polite and contained - if only because of how much more fun it is to see them unravel in the intimacy of a bedroom.

"Did it hurt when you fell from Heaven?" he finishes.

The guy squints at him, a bright flash like surprise and suspicion darting through his eyes. It's gone by the time he answers, utterly serious: "Yes. Excruciatingly."

Stanley waits for the rest, for the guy to crack a smile or laugh or add something that'd clue him in on how to proceed. He's had his fair share of reactions to his clichéd pick-up lines - people snorting in disdain or rolling their eyes in exasperation, incredulity or derision, some of them playing along and raising the stakes by retorting with a worse one. And with all of them he's known at once where he was standing. This time, he's not quite sure. He's never had such a deadpan reply, accompanied by a face so earnest and eyes so unreadable that he can't know if the guy is pulling his leg or not, if he's interested or telling him to fuck off.

When Blue-Eyed Cutie speaks again, Stanley listens and looks attentively, ready to catch even the subtlest sign. It doesn't help much.

"But how did you know?" the guys asks, frowning and tilting his head to the side. Then he freezes and his gaze turns so focused and intense it pins Stanley to his seat. The guy leans forward and asks, his low, deep voice almost drowned out by the music playing faintly in the background: "Did you meet one of my brethren? Can you remember where and when?"

Stanley doesn't know what to make of _that_. But before he has the time to start pondering over a suitable answer - he's not even sure what the guy's really asking - someone enters the bar and walks right up to them. It's a tall dude in jeans, shirt and leather jacket, one of those unfairly handsome people that Stanley personally thinks shouldn't be allowed to exist. He doesn't bother to ask if he's interrupting something, doesn't even seem to notice Stanley's presence, just stops right beside Blue-Eyed Cutie and asks: "All set, Cas?"

The way he says that name, the familiarity and affection singing through it, speaks of years of acquaintance. Like they've known each other forever. Of course.

After all, it's a law of the universe that beautiful people always converge.

And Blue-Eyed Cutie, Cas, gets this small smile on his lips, a smile that reaches his eyes and makes them crinkle at the corners, that softens his whole face - like everything is right in the world now that Hot Stud is here. Like Hot Stud is the best thing in the whole universe, beautiful and vital and loved.

Of freaking course.

"Yes, Dean," Cas says, and even his voice sounds different when he's talking to Handsome Asshole. "I am ready to go."

"Great," The Incarnation Of All Things Unfair replies with an even more unfair smile. "I'm parked out front."

Cas has already taken out his wallet and lays a couple of bills flat onto the counter, making sure they aren't too wrinkled with a care that should be ridiculous. Instead it makes Stanley innerly whine in regret since he knows now that there's no way he'll ever get these fingers on himself. Then Cas gets out a pen and scribbles down a series of numbers on a slip of paper he slides towards Stanley, much to Stanley's surprise - and Stunning Dick's, who notices Stanley's existence for the first time.

"This is Dean Winchester," Cas says, tilting his head towards Gorgeous Douchebag, who starts scowling and crosses his arms, clearly not happy about his boyfriend giving anyone his number. "He's the Righteous Man I pulled from Hell. If you ever meet another one of my kins, tell them to call this number, and that we'll come if they need us. We'll help." His eyes, who were riveted at Stanley's in all their intensity, slide to the side, to something invisible that fills them with sadness and regrets. "Even after all these years I haven't managed to find and reach out to all those that are lost." He glances back at Stanley. "Any help would be welcome."

"... Okay?" Stanley says, wondering what he's agreeing to and if he even should. Either Cas is screwing with him like no one ever dared to or he and his lover are into far more elaborated roleplaying than Stanley would be willing to go for - especially since Attractive Dick's threatening frown promises all kinds of pains, like he's really been to Hell for a major in torturing and would be happy to show him why he came out on top of his class. And Stanley has never been into chains and whips, even less bloodplay.

He probably should backpedal right now and hopefully he won't end up in the mess he might be slipping into. Before he can open his mouth though, Cas smiles again and says: "Thank you."

He even sounds honestly grateful. With one last nod he stands up, and walks away without a backward glance. Sexy Jerk follows him and he is the one to stop at the door to glare at Stanley one last time. Then he disappears too.

Stanley breathes.

He stares at the piece of paper Cas gave to him for a long time, trying to make sense of what just happened. He doesn't succeed.

Very slowly, very deliberately, he puts his now empty bottle right onto it, letting the condensed water that has gathered at the bottom wet the paper and smudge the numbers into undecipherable blurs.

Then he orders a whiskey because God, he needs a drink.


End file.
